


The Boy Who Wanders

by sohii



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohii/pseuds/sohii
Summary: A mission gone sideways leaves Dick bleeding on Jason's couch.





	The Boy Who Wanders

**Author's Note:**

> me: i wanna write a quick drabble, do u want injury care or nightmares?  
> the most patient and supporting of [friends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haeli/pseuds/whatkindoftea): injury care!  
> me: on it, i'll just write something short tonight
> 
> and here we are, two months later,
> 
> //edit 13/8/19; fixed some typos

“Head wounds,” Dick says and tastes blood in his mouth. He’s laying on a couch, on Jason’s couch, but he only has a vague memory of how he got there. He thinks Jason might have carried him part of the way. _Head wounds_ , Dick thinks to himself, a delirious edge to it.

“What?” Jason barks out, too busy threading a needle through Dick’s skin, stitching his thigh together. Jason had been forced to take his knife to the wet fabric of Dick’s uniform, tearing it apart to gain access to the stab wound. The black had obscured the worst of the blood but it had oozed between Jason's fingers when he'd gripped Dick's thigh to hold him still.

“The blood, head wounds,” Dick tries to explain, frowning at how Jason isn’t getting this. Jason pauses just long enough to glance up at Dick, not quite looking him in the eye. With a deep breath, he returns to the stitches.

“Did you hit your fucking head?” Jason asks, his voice tight and distant like he isn’t expecting an answer. The needle dips in and out, Jason favouring efficiency over kindness. The odd floating sensation is beginning to dissipate as the shock wears off and Dick’s adrenaline fades. Dick's sinking, nausea washing over him and he struggles to focus. His thoughts rush him, returning to him in a tidal wave he can't contain.

“Yes?” Dick can’t remember hitting his head. He remembers the stab, the villain-of-the-week pulling out a knife out of seemingly thin air - and this _is_ Gotham, they very well might have - and swinging at Dick. He remembers stumbling, his leg giving way as they wrestled for the knife. He had won their tussle but not before the knife had caught the side of his face, cutting into his hairline. “No?”

“Great, that's just fucking great,” Jason mumbles. The next thing Dick hears is the snip of scissors. He looks down, at the map of black thread crisscrossing down his thigh, and tries to move his leg. Jason clamps down on his knee like a vice.

"Don't." Jason orders, teeth gritted, "Stay still."

“You’re angry,” Dick blurts out, giving voice to the first clear thought he has in response to Jason. So much seems to be caught up in white noise still and each time he tries to force it away, he gets tangled in it, losing time, losing direction. It surrounds him, deceptively comforting and uncomplicated but the longer he lingers, the louder the noise becomes until it is pushing Dick out of his own head, leaving him nowhere to turn. When he wrenches himself free of it, Jason is well into his tirade. 

“- to drag you all over here and now you’re bleeding all over my fucking couch, so no shit, I’m angry!” Jason’s shouting by the end of it, pulling at his own hair, and the yelling makes Dick’s head pound with a new type of pain. But with it comes clarity, a steadiness as Dick finally lands in his own body and all its pains.

“Stop yelling," Dick says, gritting his teeth as he sits up. He wants nothing more than to peel the suit off, sticky with drying blood. He reaches down to run his fingers over Jason's work and Jason jerks away from him before their hands can touch.

“Thank you,” Dick offers, forces his voice to be softer so that things won’t escalate. He could manage on his own from here, if Jason left, but the thought offers no comfort, draining Dick of the little energy he has left. Sinking against the backrest, letting it take most of his weight, Dick shivers in the ruined uniform.

Jason kneels next to the sofa and takes both of Dick’s hands in his own. They're both bloody, Jason more so than Dick. He leans forward, presses his forehead to Dick's hands and Dick can feel his lips move, in prayer maybe, before Jason squeezes his hands tightly and gets up on his feet.

“Just. Stay awake, okay, I’ll be right back,” he says before heading to the kitchen. Dick can hear the water running, cabinets opening and closing while he concentrates on breathing. He knows better than to try and stand on his own but he worries how much more Jason's hospitality will stretch. They are in uncharted waters, playing with boundaries they’ve hardly even acknowledged, like whether it was okay to almost bleed out on the couch. Whether it was alright to spend the night without the excuse of sex. Dick feels ill-equipped to handle any of it. He's hurting, tired and dizzier than he should be, and the fear of failing to navigate their fraught relationship is nearly crippling.

Jason returns with water, another first aid kit and a towel. He kneels on the floor again and slips a hand under Dick’s head, supporting him. Dick can feel the mess his hair is, how Jason’s fingers push through the knots. While Jason sorts through his first aid kit, Dick takes his chance to nuzzle Jason’s palm, ignoring the wave of pain that follows.

“What are you doing?” Jason sighs and pulls his hand away, only to push his thumb between Dick’s eyes, smoothing out his furrowed brows. Dick complies, letting Jason smooth out the frown, closing his eyes as Jason’s thumb follows the bridge of his nose before brushing over his lashes. The hand retreats and Dick opens his eyes.

“Hey, you,” Dick greets right before Jason brings the towel up to Dick’s face and wipes at his mouth and cheek. The towel is wet with warm water and after a second and a third rough stroke, Jason pushes up from his knees, his breath cold against Dick’s wet skin, and kisses his chin. When he pulls away, Dick protests, a quiet ‘come back’ that Jason instantly obeys, kissing him on the mouth this time. The next time he pulls back, Dick lets him, and Jason continues to wipe the worst of the blood off Dick’s face.

“Okay, okay, you didn’t slice up your pretty face too bad,” Jason says, rummaging through the first aid kit and pulling out a box of bandages, “and if you say something clever about how I just called you pretty, I will leave you to bleed to death on this couch.”

Dick doesn’t bother hiding his smile, letting himself relax as Jason continues cleaning him, dragging the soft towel over his neck in low, steady strokes, like waves that lap up to his jaw before retreating.

“Stop smiling, you look dumb,” Jason grumbles, setting the towel aside. He pulls out the necessary bandages from the first aid kit and begins attending to the gash on Dick’s forehead. Pressing his lips into a tight line, Dick does his best to follow orders. He feels sleep gathering, like a barrier between him and the pain. He stirs awake when Jason pulls away and the comforting heat of his hands disappears. There’s a click of the first aid box closing and as Dick opens his eyes, Jason reaches out to pet his hair.

“Jesus, you scared me,” Jason whispers. He’s come a long way from his Robin days when being scared was uncomplicated, when Dick could fix things with a hug or a pep talk. It’s no longer wide eyes and shaky hands, things that Dick could grasp and soothe. This, _them_ , has grown into something labyrinthine and Dick finds he is lost, holding his breath before he braves a turn.

“I know,” Dick whispers back, just as quietly. They’ve never been much for apologies and Dick wouldn’t even know where to start. They’ll be back here again, in another week, bruised and bleeding, figuring it out as they go.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Jason says, pulling his hand back. He looks down along the couch, to where Dick’s suit is ripped and the black sutures run along his thigh, waiting to heal into yet another scar. His work is tidy, precise and would undoubtedly make Alfred proud. Dick is looking at Jason instead. A tiredness has settled in him, in the lines on his forehead and the corners of his eyes, even the set of his mouth betrays him. He wonders if this is what Jason will look like when and if they ever get to grow old.

“Hey,” Dick says softly, guiding Jason’s attention back to him, “Help me wash up?”

“Sure,” Jason agrees easily before placing two pills on the counter next to a glass of water, “Take these. I’ll clean up and I’ll help you up after.” As he turns away to clean up the mess they’ve made of the living room floor, Dick reaches for the water. Leaning forward unleashes a wave of dizziness and he rests his elbows on his knees and hangs his head until the world reorients itself. By the time Dick is setting the empty glass down, Jason returns from the kitchen, hands clean.

Standing up will be a misery all of its own but before Dick can give it a try, Jason is there, one hand on his elbow and the other wrapping around Dick’s waist. The stitches pull and it is the sharp, clear pain that slices through his thigh that leaves Dick slumping against Jason, holding onto his shoulders. They wait until Dick’s breathing evens out, Jason rubbing his nose against Dick’s cheek as he supports most of Dick’s weight.

“You’re so good to me” Dick mumbles into Jason’s neck, only now noticing the ratty t-shirt and sweatpants Jason has changed into. It makes his suit feel even worse and Dick can’t help the shiver that follows, the fabric still wet with blood in places. Jason eases one of Dick’s arms around his shoulders and slowly they begin making their way toward the bathroom. It’s a long walk and by the time Jason eases Dick down on the bathroom floor, he’s lost all colour in his face, sweat beading on his forehead.

“What would I do without you, Little Wing,” Dick manages, a little breathy and high strung. The pain ebbs slowly and while Dick catches his breath against the bathtub’s side, Jason lets the water run until it’s warm. Dick is already dreading getting across the room and to the bed.

“Have Alfred patch you up and spend the night in the cave,” Jason says without any hesitation as he pushes Dick to lean forward, away from the tub. He puts a hand on Dick’s chest as he unzips Dick’s suit.

“You’re right, I’ve changed my mind, I want Alfred instead. He makes a killer chicken soup and they have morphine in the cave, and I have Tim’s password for HBO,” Dick lists as he covers Jason’s hand with his, slipping his fingers between Jason’s when he encourages Dick to lean back. The cold surface of the bathtub against his bare back catches Dick by surprise, eliciting a gasp, and Jason takes the chance to pull his hand away.

“I know the recipe,” Jason grumbles as he carefully begins tearing into Dick’s uniform, his knife ripping along the seams, “and I’ve got some morphine stashed.”

“No HBO?” Dick quips, resting his head back on the edge of the tub. He watches Jason, eyes at half-mast, but he gets no answer other than simple instructions when Jason needs him to move a certain way to pull a piece of the uniform off. He watches the way his jaw slowly unclenches, his breathing evens out and Dick finds himself trying to match Jason’s rhythm.

Once the suit is off and Dick is shivering on the floor in nothing but his boxers, Jason begins to scrub off the blood. He dips a towel in the warm water running in the bath and gently washes away the worst of the mess, beginning with Dick’s thighs. The white towel is quickly dyed a rusty red that doesn’t quite come off when Jason’s rinses it. But the fabric is soft and Jason is gentler than Dick anticipated, the maze between them twisting in way that is unexpected but desperately welcome.

“I could call Alfred, you know, he could come pick you up,” Jason finally says as he rubs the towel over Dick’s stomach, dipping around his sides. He’s close enough to kiss if only Dick had the energy to get up or tug Jason down. He closes his eyes instead.

“No, Little Wing, I was joking,” Dick whispers, sighing as the warm towel crosses over his chest and comes to a rest on his shoulder. Dick opens his eyes, uncertain if he fell asleep for just a moment, and he finds Jason staring right at him. A shiver runs up his spine, the cold of the bathroom floor, the cold of Jason’s gaze, sinking into his skin.

“Please don’t send me away.”

“I- I won’t,” Jason promises, softly – hesitantly, Dick realizes – cupping Dick’s face, “I promise I won’t.”

When Jason deems Dick clean enough, he pulls out another towel and puts it around Dick like blanket.

“Lean back, we still gotta get your hair,” Jason guides him and though the edge of the bathtub is uncomfortable, Dick follows instructions without complaint. The worst of the dizziness has passed and the painkillers have kicked in, the headache receding into a muted baseline. He soaks in the attention, Jason’s fingers working the dried blood out of Dick’s hair, and he surrenders to Jason.

This time he knows he has fallen asleep as Jason wake him up by brushing his thumb along Dick’s cheek and calling his name.

“Bed?” Dick mumbles, clutching Jason’s wrist and letting the towel fall over his shoulder. When Jason pulls his hand away and forces Dick to let him go, Dick clutches at the hem of Jason’s shirt instead, sinking his fingers into the frayed fabric. Jason leans closer and tugs the towel up and over Dick and starts drying Dick’s hair. He doesn’t waste time and when he’s done, letting the towel fall behind Dick, he leans in and kisses him chastely on the lips. Dick leans into it, the warmth of it, until Jason pulls back.

“Yeah, bed,” Jason agrees, hooking his hands under Dick’s arms and pulling him up. Dick’s not much help, especially when it becomes clear his leg can’t hold his weight at all. The dizziness has passed but Dick has no objections when they take a moment to find their balance, Jason’s hands running up and down his back, tracing what Dick can only assume are bruises in full bloom. In return, Dick slips his hand under Jason’s shirt, resting it against his ribs.

“Bed,” Jason says again, more determined now and gives Dick a nudge. He fishes Dick’s hand out from under his shirt and helps him wobble over to the bed. He sinks into the soft mattress, burying his face in the pillow and breathing in the comforting scent of Jason’s sheets. He feels the bed dip and then Jason’s hands are on his hips, turning him on his side and pulling Dick’s thigh over his. Dick leans into the warmth of him when one last request comes to mind, one more push of Jason’s affections for him.

“Read for me?” Dick asks, reaching over and laying his hand over Jason’s chest. He can feel the trace of the autopsy scar through the shirt and rubs his thumb where the branches of the Y meet. “Please?”

Jason flicks on the bedside lamp but he pauses before reaching for the paperback on the nightstand. He leans back, puts himself in Dick’s space, and brushes his cheek against Dick’s.

“I,” Jason starts, pausing for a deep breathe before he closes that last bit of distance and gently presses his lips against Dick’s, kissing his upper lip, then his lower, placing a third to the corner of his mouth. Dick sends him off with a pleased sigh, content to let Jason set their pace.

“I love you,” Jason whispers into the soft light that bathes them, demarcating their private, safe sphere. Dick presses the tips of his fingers against the blush he can barely make out, feeling the heat of it on Jason’s cheeks. He brings his fingers to his mouth, kissing them, before he tucks himself against Jason.

“Read for me, Little Wing,” he whispers. Jason picks up the book, slipping the bookmark out and setting it aside. He picks up where he left off, guiding Dick steadily to sleep: “Fear no more, says the heart, committing its burden to some sea, which sighs collectively for all sorrows, and renews, begins, collects, lets fall...”

**Author's Note:**

> Jason is, of course, reading Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway


End file.
